Infatuation
by Firebird9
Summary: With Phryne soon to turn thirty, Aunt Prudence is determined to marry her off. She knows that her niece's infatuation with a certain police inspector may be a problem, but the would-be beau found floating in the Stanley swimming pool may present a rather larger one, especially when Phryne enlists Jack's help to investigate.
1. Chapter 1

**Infatuation**

**Author:** Firebird9

**Rating:** T

_First of all, a HUGE thank you to Foxfireside, who read the first chapter and pronounced it good, and insisted I turn it into a proper fic. And then allowed me to bug her with each successive chapter even though she has a life and was busy living it. You're awesome babe!_

* * *

Prudence Stanley smiled in welcome as her guest of honour swept through the door in her finery. Her smile froze, however, as she took in the sight of the man on whose arm her niece walked. The problem was not that she disliked the Detective Inspector, she reminded herself. The man was polite, suitably deferential, upright and hardworking and, she had to admit, easy on the eye. Nor was the fact that he was clearly infatuated with Phryne an issue. The problem wasn't even the way the man positively abetted her niece in her obsession with crime and detective work, a thoroughly inappropriate interest for a young woman and one which, but for Jack Robinson's influence, she would probably have grown bored with long ago. No, the problem was that her niece was clearly every bit as infatuated with the doggedly loyal policeman as he was with her.

"Phryne, my dear, how good to see you." She took hold of her niece's hands and kissed her cheek.

"And you, Aunt Prudence."

"And I see you brought the Inspector with you." She offered her hand, but did not address him directly.

"Yes. I hope you don't mind; I thought it might be nice to attend with a guest for a change."

"Of course. Inspector, always a pleasure."

"Likewise, Mrs. Stanley." His manners were, as always, impeccable, his expression polite, but she could imagine that she saw wheels turning behind those brown eyes, and wondered just how much Phryne had told him about her purpose in arranging these parties, and, given his own feelings, just what he might make of it.

Her aunt turned away to welcome more guests, and Phryne took the opportunity to lead Jack into the ballroom. As she had feared, the guests were disproportionately male, well-bred, and unwed. A disconcerting number of them turned towards her as she descended the stairs leading onto the main floor, and she had a sudden sense of how a shipwrecked sailor must feel when he realises the sharks have begun to circle. This was the third such party her aunt had invited her to, and were it not for the reassuring pressure of Jack's arm in hers she might very well have muttered an excuse and fled.

"Is everything alright, Miss Fisher?" Clearly, he had sensed her hesitation and was concerned. She plastered on a bright smile before turning to him.

"Of course. Why wouldn't it be?"

His narrowed eyes and the slight tilt of his head indicated that he didn't entirely believe her, and she reminded herself to be careful. Jack had a tendency to worry, and to overreact to situations involving her. Her aunt's machinations might be embarrassing, intrusive and demeaning – all of which was beginning to upset her more than she was willing to admit – but they weren't dangerous, and she needed to make sure that Jack didn't decide otherwise.

"Phryne Fisher," St. John Windstanleigh positively oozed charm as he greeted her at the bottom of the stairs. He was rich, handsome, charming, and a thoroughly vicious bastard. Unfortunately, her aunt either wasn't aware of that last point or else didn't care, because he had been an honoured guest at all three of her parties.

"St. John," she extended her hand and let him kiss it, his eyes flicking up to hers suggestively.

"Perhaps you'd grant me the pleasure of a dance?" he asked as he straightened.

"Maybe later. I was hoping to have a drink first."

His expression darkened at her refusal, his anger no doubt intensified by the knowledge that, as she had done the last time, she would ensure that they didn't dance together at all. She had danced with him the first night, and had been disgusted by his open leers, suggestive remarks and roving hands. It probably wouldn't have troubled her, once.

"Later, then." He turned on his heel and stalked off, and she turned to meet Jack's enquiring gaze.

"St. John Windstanleigh," she informed him. "Prone to temper tantrums when he doesn't get his own way."

"I see," Jack nodded slowly.

"So," she said brightly, hoping to distract him, "how about a drink?" Without waiting for an answer she homed in on the nearest waiter and retrieved two glasses of champagne, offering one to him. "Cheers."

Ashley Parkes was the next to ask her for a dance, followed by Harry Grey and Maxwell Smythe. All three were refused with varying degrees of politeness and professed regret.

"I hope you're not refusing dances on my account?" Jack asked softly, as Smythe made his way back to his friends.

"Whatever makes you say that?" she responded, hoping to hide her confusion at the realisation that he was the only man in the room she wanted to dance with tonight by touching on the implicitly off-limits subject of their personal feelings for one another.

"Because you enjoy dancing, and I've never known you to refuse something you enjoy," he replied frankly.

"Then why don't you dance with me?" she asked, placing her empty glass on the tray of a passing waiter. He hesitated. "Well?"

"I'm not much of a dancer."

She wasn't sure whether he was telling the truth or trying to avoid accepting her invitation, but suddenly she wanted to be in his arms more than anything. Jack had a way of steadying her, of putting her back on-balance, and she was feeling distinctly off-kilter tonight. "Please?" she tried, and after a moment's consideration he shrugged.

"Very well. But don't complain if I tread on your toes." The smile that crossed her lips at that was the first genuine one of the evening.

The dance was, perhaps appropriately, a waltz, and Phryne quickly realised that, while Jack was indeed out of practise, he clearly remembered the steps and led with enough confidence that she could lean into his touch and let some of the tension drain out of her.

She was shaken from her brief reverie by his voice. "Suppose you tell me what's really going on?"

"Why, Jack," she prevaricated once again, "what on earth makes you think there's anything going on?" The waltz chose that moment to end, and he moved back slightly and bowed to her before offering her his arm.

"Because you are, quite clearly, miserable," he stated in a matter-of-fact tone as he led her out onto the terrace.

She sighed and stepped away from him, going to lean against the wall overlooking the lawns. "Is it that obvious?" she asked as he came to lean beside her, his upper arm just barely touching hers.

He shrugged. "Maybe not to anyone else. You smile, and you laugh – when people are watching you. But when you think no-one's looking... please, Phryne, tell me what's wrong."

His use of her given name was an indication of just how worried he was, and she sighed and gave in. "You know that I'll be thirty soon," she asked, and he nodded. Her date of birth wasn't exactly a secret. "I don't know what my mother and my aunt have been saying in their letters recently, but a couple of months ago my aunt invited me to a party very much like this one."

"Go on."

"A large number of eligible young men, a suspicious dearth of females and married men... and a pointed interrogation afterwards as to what I thought of the guests and whether any of them had particularly appealed to me. Needless to say, any that I didn't confess to absolutely loathing turned up at another party last month, along with a handful of new candidates." She glanced up at him to see whether he was following.

"They're trying to marry you off."

"Exactly." She tilted her head back with a sigh that was almost a sob. "I feel like a brood mare up for auction, with all of them placing their bids. That's why I wanted you here tonight, Jack. I just couldn't face another night of _this_ without an ally. Without at least one person in the room who sees me for myself. Without..." she trailed off, and after a moment he prompted gently

"Without...?"

"Without someone who cares," she whispered, unable to meet his eye.

"Oh, Phryne." Whatever else he might have been about to say was cut off by the sudden arrival on the terrace of several rowdy and already half-cut men. Phryne tensed and felt herself move closer to Jack, wanting nothing to do with any of her aunt's candidates under such circumstances. To her surprise he responded by wrapping a protective arm around her shoulders.

"Let's go back inside," he suggested, leading the way.

They returned to find dinner being announced, and followed the flow of guests through to an elegantly-set dining hall. Phryne was, of course, seated at the table of honour and, because even Jack knew it would have been a shocking breach of etiquette for it to be otherwise, he was seated at her side. He couldn't help but wonder just who had been moved in order to make way for him. One person who clearly hadn't been moved, however, and was seated on Phryne's other side, was St. John Windstanleigh.

"Miss Fisher! We appear to be dinner partners," he smiled at her as he made to pull her chair out, and she felt her stomach clench. There was something about this man that she really couldn't stand.

"Actually," Jack's was a policeman's smile as he placed his own hand on the back of her chair – pleasant but with a distinct undertone of potential unpleasantness if he didn't get his own way – "I believe Miss Fisher is _my_ dinner partner." And he calmly stared Windstanleigh down until the other man removed his hand and let him pull the chair out. Jack's smile softened and became genuine as he turned to Phryne. "Miss Fisher?"

"Thank you, Inspector." She took her seat and allowed him to push her chair back in before he took his place beside her. From the way Windstanleigh slammed his own chair back and raked it in to the table, he was seething.

The first course was served in a silence which might have been awkward, or even menacing, were it not for the way Jack kept catching her eye. Much of their communication, particularly on his side, had always been non-verbal, and now his eyes let her know that he was amused by, and somewhat disdainful of, Windstanleigh's behaviour and happy to be her ally in the face of it.

The second course was shellfish, and Jack cocked his head at her, appeared to examine them carefully and then, as though imparting some great secret, leaned closer to her and murmured "no snails?"

She had to use her serviette to cover the sudden laugh that evoked, and their eyes met in fond recollection. Yes, they had gone to the Cafe Replique to apprehend her murderous ex-lover, but the events of that day – including the desperate kiss Jack had pressed to her lips in his efforts to shield her from Rene Dubois' gaze – had become one of the many occasions that had served to deepen the bond between them.

"Is something amusing, Miss Fisher?" Windstanleigh asked from her other side, and perhaps it was Jack's deliberate calling to mind of that day at the Cafe, but suddenly she realised exactly why she disliked St. John so much: he reminded her far too acutely of Rene.

"Merely a private joke," she replied airily, but her stomach flipped at the further darkening in Windstanleigh's gaze, and she felt a sudden irrational stab of fear.

Something must have shown on her face, because Jack froze with his fork half-way to his mouth, and placed it carefully back on his plate before slipping his hand under the table to touch her knee. "Phryne?"

She shook her head slightly, trying to tell him not to worry. After all, what could Windstanleigh do to her here, in a room full of people, with Jack Robinson sitting by her side? She tried not to remember the feeling of Rene's gun against her face, or the look of helpless anger on Jack's as he discarded his own weapon in order to prevent Rene from shooting her.

To her surprise, he did not immediately withdraw his hand but instead rubbed her knee gently with his fingers whilst holding her gaze with his own. Gradually, she felt her attention shift. Jack rarely engaged in casual physical contact, and even more rarely maintained it for any length of time. How worried must he be to do so tonight? And what did it say about her feelings for him that, for her part, he could go on touching her knee more or less indefinitely, particularly if he also kept looking at her with those gentle, concerned eyes?

He must have felt her relax, because after a moment he smiled and gave her leg one last reassuring pat before returning his hand to the table-top.

By the time dessert was served her nerves were frayed to breaking point, and the only reason she hadn't already bolted from the room was Jack's continued eye contact, his quiet jokes, and the occasional steadying touch under the table. Indeed, around the time the main course was being brought in he had shifted slightly in his seat so that the length of his leg was resting against hers, a line of comforting warmth which nudged her in gentle encouragement whenever Windstanleigh made another sally. For his own part, Jack seemed unconcerned by the barbed and condescending comments which Windstanleigh periodically launched in his direction. To the richer man's increasing frustration, Jack dealt with him in much the same way he would have done were his insults being delivered during the course of a police interview or enquiries. Jack was courteous, non-committal, and maintained an air of polite detachment, or even amusement, regardless of Windstanleigh's attempts to provoke him, and the sardonic look in his eyes when they met Phryne's was another blissful piece of sanity.

Postprandial drinks were a mixed affair back in the ballroom, to which Jack escorted her on his arm before Windstanleigh had so much as a chance to offer.

"Would you excuse me?" she asked at the foot of the stairs. And, in explanation, "powder room."

He nodded and moved to the side, watching her leave.


	2. Chapter 2

_Wow, thank you all so much for the amazing feedback so far! I'm especially amazed by all the new names: where did you all come from?!_

_Save Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries! At this stage, ABC has no plans to make a third season of MFMM. If you don't want fanfiction to be your ONLY source of MFMM joy, please google 'Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries Petition' to find the petition asking ABC to make a third season, and add your name. Or, better yet, email ABC and tell them how you feel. Let's not let Miss Fisher become another Firefly, killed off too soon. The Browncoats got us Serenity, let's get us a third season!_

_"We have done the impossible, and that makes us mighty."_

* * *

Jack watched as Phryne headed for the bathroom, then allowed himself to relax slightly for the first time that evening. He couldn't recall the last time he had seen her so upset. Frightened, yes, angry, most certainly, but this? There was a kind of helpless misery in her attitude tonight which tugged at his heartstrings in a way that he knew was dangerous. He had learned through long experience that he could withstand her flirtations – although that was becoming progressively more difficult as the reality of his divorce sank in – but he wasn't sure how long he could withstand her unhappiness. And yet, what could he do? Ignore her pain? Withdraw his support and leave her to face Windstanleigh's attentions alone?

At the thought of their dinner companion, his hands clenched into fists. Clearly the man was determined to have whatever he wanted – and tonight, what he wanted was Phryne. No wonder she was upset, if this was the kind of man her aunt was willing to throw her at.

That thought brought Jack's attention back to the rest of the room. There _were_ some women present, and some of them were also unmarried, so it wasn't as though Phryne were her aunt's only target, although the others were in all likelihood little more than an afterthought. Eligible men, of every class, had been in short supply since the War, so all of these must have their own reasons for remaining single. No doubt some, like Phryne, had simply decided that the single state offered more freedom and pleasure than marriage. Others, like him, would be bearing the hidden scars of battle, the wounds that, even a decade on, made it difficult to truly connect with other people (although he _had_ connected with Phryne... and that was not something he needed to be thinking about right at this moment). And no doubt a few of them were what were sometimes euphemistically referred to as 'confirmed bachelors': men who simply had no interest in women.

No, he thought, there was not a single man in this room that he would consider a suitable life-mate for Phryne, even if she were inclined to marry.

Nonetheless, he continued to scan the crowd, a policeman's habit which he conducted almost unconsciously as he leaned against the wall, until something drew his attention. He stopped and ran his gaze back the way it had come, replaying the last few seconds in his mind. Movement on the stairs up which Phryne had departed. Windstanleigh. Of course, his presence there was probably perfectly innocent, but there was something in his movements, some hint of furtiveness, that made Jack's heartbeat quicken just slightly. Phryne had walked up those stairs alone, and now Windstanleigh was following along behind, and as much as Jack wanted to believe it was simple coincidence, he didn't.

Knowing that he might very well end up looking like an overprotective fool if he were wrong, he pushed off from the wall and made his way towards the stairs, only to be intercepted by two of the other guests.

"Well, if it isn't Phryne's pet policeman," one of the pair remarked, in tones which were probably intended to be threatening but came across as merely childish. "Good to know the plod's here to keep us safe."

He glanced at them and dismissed them, his attention still focussed on the stairs. "Excuse me, please."

"Why? Some old lady getting her handbag snatched?"

Reluctantly, he turned his attention to the one who had spoken, and let his lips curve into the same smile he had used on Windstanleigh in the dining hall. "Would you excuse me, please?" As it had before, it worked. Men like this were unused to dealing with men like Jack, who would not defer to their wealth and status, and they moved aside. Jack quickened his pace, aware that time was passing while he remained downstairs.

Reaching the landing, he glanced to his left and his right. Away from the other guests all was quiet, and there was no indication of which direction either Phryne or Windstanleigh might have taken. He listened, and thought he heard movement to his left. Turning towards it, he called sharply "Miss Fisher?"

There was no answer, but he thought he heard a muffled thump from one of the rooms further along the corridor, and quickened his pace. "Miss Fisher?"

One of the doors was ajar and he pushed it open quietly and peered around, still half-expecting to hear Phryne's voice behind him, surprised and amused as she asked him what he was doing up there.

Instead, he saw her standing very straight, her body turned away from the door, her left arm twisted viciously behind her back by St. John Windstanleigh. "It doesn't matter how you dress; you'll never be anything but a piece of Collingwood trash, and I'm _damned_ if I'll take no for an answer from the likes of you," the man spat, giving her arm an extra twist as he pushed her in the direction of the bed, and Jack heard Phryne hiss in pain.

"Let her go." Jack's voice was low and menacing as cold fury settled in his stomach. _This_ was the type of man Phryne's aunt would choose for her?

Windstanleigh turned, a supercilious smile on his face as he released Phryne. She immediately moved away, cradling her arm to her body, eyes wide and wary, but her attacker was still between her and the door. "Inspector Robinson..."

"Get out." Jack strode forward, positioning himself between Windstanleigh and his target, his gaze never leaving the other man.

Windstanleigh stood his ground for only a moment before moving to comply, but turned back before he reached the door. "Even a policeman from Richmond's only ever going to be after one thing from-"

"Out!" Jack took a half-step forward, and was grimly satisfied to see the man's smirk falter as he shut his mouth on whatever filth he had been about to pronounce and beat a hasty retreat.

"I've half a mind to arrest him," he remarked heatedly as he turned his attention to Phryne, still standing close behind him. She gave him a shaky smile.

"You'd only have to let him go," she replied. "Men like him don't go to prison just for threatening women like me."

"Maybe not, but he'd still spend the night in the cells." Phryne just shook her head, and his tone softened with concern as he reached out to examine her gently. "How's your arm?"

"A few bruises. Nothing of any consequence."

He huffed in helpless anger. "Phryne..." he whispered softly, not knowing what else to say. She looked up at him, her eyes bright with unshed tears.

"Please don't, Jack," she asked plaintively. "I think if you offer me sympathy right now, I might just fall apart completely."

He nodded in understanding and moved to her side, wrapping his arm about her shoulders. "I'm taking you home," he told her. "Right now. We'll collect your fur, and we're going."

When she let him take charge without an argument, he knew just how serious the situation was.

...

She let him drive as she sat wrapped in her fur, staring unseeingly into the darkness. When they reached her residence he escorted her into the parlour and seated her beside the fireplace, stirring the flames into some semblance of life before going to pour them both a whisky. She was rubbing her arm absently when he returned to her side, and he was shocked to see her jump slightly when he proffered the drink.

"Sorry." He sat down opposite her, watching her over the rim of his glass.

She smiled slightly. "It's not your fault."

They sipped in silence for a while, staring at the flames. After a few moments, Phryne sighed and reached down to remove her shoes. She tossed them carelessly in the general direction of the corner and looked at him. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

The silence stretched out again. "He reminds me of Rene Dubois," she remarked suddenly, and he nodded.

"I can see the resemblance." He paused. Although he knew that Dubois had been violent and possessive, and had seen both what he had done to Veronique Sarcelle and how terrified Phryne had been of him, they had never discussed the relationship. "It must have been very hard for you."

She shrugged, memories shadowing her eyes. "That whole time was very hard for me. I was alone, penniless. At least Rene provided me with a place to sleep, food to eat." She gave a wry smile. "A desperate bargain, you might say."

"But one which you no longer need to make."

This time her smile was wider, more genuine. "Indeed." She raised her empty glass in a toast. "To freedom," she said.

He leaned forward to tap his glass against hers. "To freedom," he repeated.

They sat together for a second glass, by which time Jack could see that Phryne was calmer. He still didn't like the subtle way she kept touching her arm, but he couldn't tell whether that was due to physical injury or emotional distress. Eventually, however, they were both sufficiently relaxed that he knew they'd be able to sleep. At her invitation he would be spending the night in one of her guest bedrooms. He had unpacked his overnight bag and hung his suit before they departed for the party, and all that remained was to wash his face and change into his pyjamas. With Mr. Butler and Dot both in bed, Phryne insisted on fetching water for him herself before she retreated to her own bedroom for the night.

He had thought he would have trouble sleeping, but the next thing he knew it was daylight and he was being roused by a discreet tap on the door and Mr. Butler's entry with a cup of tea.

...

They were in the middle of a breakfast that was relatively late by Jack's standards and relatively early by Phryne's when the phone rang.

"Your pardon, Miss," Mr. Butler interrupted a moment later. "Your aunt is on the phone. She sounds rather upset."

Phryne sighed. "No doubt she's calling to tell me off for my early departure last night."

Sensing her reluctance to take the call, Jack set his own breakfast aside and followed her into the hallway. She gave him a grateful smile as she raised the receiver to her ear.

"Aunt P, what a surprise to hear from you so early... Why? What's happened?... In the pool?" And, as a whispered aside to Jack, "Not again." A pause. "Of course I'll come. Who was- Aunt P?" And, with a sigh, "Damn, I could have done with a few more details."

"What's happened?"

"It appears that one of the guests has turned up face-down in the pool. Dead as a doornail, as you can imagine. Aunt P's in a flap, especially after last time, and wants me to drive up there."

Jack hesitated for only a moment. Technically, there were other police stations far closer to the Stanley residence which ought to handle the investigation – as he had been informed, in no uncertain terms, after the last time – but the thought of letting Phryne drive back there alone, with St. John Windstanleigh quite possibly still on the scene, was more than he could bear.

"If you've no objection, perhaps I could offer my assistance?" he suggested.

Phryne smiled. Much as she hated to admit it, the thought of returning to her aunt's house so soon, especially with St. John Windstanleigh likely still on the premises, did not appeal to her in the slightest, and Jack's offer was a positive godsend. "I'd be delighted," she replied.


	3. Chapter 3

_Wow, once again a huge thank-you to all the people who took the time to write me reviews._

_To the people who said nice things about my characterisation and dialogue: I worked hard on them, so thank you for your encouragement.  
To the people who said they like seeing Jack being protective and Phryne accepting his protectiveness: throughout the show, Phryne makes it clear that she neither needs nor wants Jack's protection – right up until the moment she does, at which point he inevitably rides to the rescue, which is very sweet.  
To the people who said 'Die, Windstanleigh, die!' (or words to that effect): I love Midsomer Murders. Anyone who's familiar with that show will know what's coming..._

* * *

Jack was surprised when Phryne drove to the Stanley residence at her usual breakneck speed rather than the more sedate pace she had selected the night before, although he supposed he probably shouldn't have been. Phryne's speed then had been dictated by her desire to avoid the party which awaited her. Today, she had a dead body to look forward to. Which, he thought resignedly, said a great deal about her, and about her relationship with her aunt.

In front of the house, she brought the car to a halt that almost turned into a skid and swiftly led Jack around to the pool in her aunt's extensive gardens. It was easy to see where their body was located. A tight knot of people stood clustered around a distinctive shape on the ground, whist a rather looser gaggle looked on from a distance. The two detectives elbowed their way as politely as they could through the crowd, until Prudence's cry of "Phryne, thank God!" opened a path before them.

"Aunt Prudence, how dreadful!" Phryne's attention was on the body as she closed the gap between them and briefly clasped her aunt's hands, Jack a pace or two behind her. He was just beginning to think that the deceased looked familiar when Phryne beat him to the punch. "Oh, I don't believe it." And then, as she crouched down beside the body "St. John!"

"Miss Fisher-"

"Look at the cut on his forehead, Jack. He must have slipped and knocked himself unconscious-"

"Miss Fisher!"

"But why didn't anybody see? The house was hardly abandoned last night."

"Phryne." He leaned down and caught her arm, as he had done many times in the past. He realised his mistake when she jerked around with a gasp, eyes wide, and gave a brief wince of apology, cursing himself mentally. Out loud, however, he urged in a low voice "You need to come away, now."

His hand still on her arm, he waited for her nod of assent, then helped her to rise and drew her away to the side. "Jack?" she asked as he released her.

"If St. John Windstanleigh is dead, you and I are both suspects." He kept his voice low, hoping that no-one else would hear them, but hadn't counted on Mrs. Stanley's unerring instinct for gossip. As they moved away she had followed, and now weighed in.

"Suspects? You can't be serious, Inspector. Mr. Windstanleigh has clearly met with an unfortunate accident, and even if he hadn't, what possible motive could either of you have for murdering him?"

Phryne looked to Jack for help, unable to articulate an explanation. Seeing her at a loss, he obligingly stepped in. "There was an altercation last night between your niece, Mr. Windstanleigh, and myself. He was unnecessarily persistent in his attentions to Miss Fisher, and I intervened on her behalf." He glanced down at the body. "We left shortly afterwards, but even so, neither of us can be involved in this investigation."

"Investigation? Surely it was just a tragic accident."

"We can't be sure at this stage, Aunt." Phryne had found her voice again. "Until we are, Jack's right: we can't have anything to do with this. Have you telephoned the police?"

"Well, no, I thought-"

"Then that will be the first thing you need to do. Then you'll need to ask all the guests who haven't departed yet to remain until the police can speak with them. Might I suggest drinks in the blue drawing room as a suitable distraction?"

"It would also be helpful if you could supply the police with a list of everyone who was present last night, including staff as well as guests, and contact information for everyone who has already left," Jack added. "And you might want to send someone for a sheet and cover up the body. For now, I think Miss Fisher and I will make our way to the house." He gestured for Phryne to lead the way, leaving Prudence to take care of the other details. She led him inside calmly enough but, as soon as they were in the privacy of what seemed to be some kind of parlour, she whirled to him in shock and outrage.

"Jack, you can't be serious! We had nothing to do with this!"

"I know," he placated. "But look at it from a police perspective. You refused to dance with him; it would have been obvious at dinner that neither of us were particularly fond of him; others may well have seen some or all of us head upstairs; and you and I left in a hurry relatively early in the evening, and have no idea what Windstanleigh might or might not have said about us, or to whom, after we departed. Think, Miss Fisher. If we were investigating this case, where would we direct our attention?"

She sighed and dropped into a chair, leaning her head in her hands. "So what do we do, Jack?"

"For now, we stay as far away from the body, and the scene, as we can. Once the police arrive, I imagine they'll want to interview us fairly early in the piece. We need to be entirely candid with them. And I don't just mean about last night."

She looked up at that, responding to his tone as much as his words. "Jack..."

"I'm serious, Phryne. You know as well as I do that they won't care what secrets we might be keeping, only that we're keeping them. We can't afford to give them any more grounds for suspicion than they already have."

"But Jack, things between you and I..." she trailed off helplessly.

"Aren't exactly easily explained. I know." He sat down opposite her, close enough that, if they had been in the habit, he could have reached across and taken her hand. "But we have to try. If we don't, it will only give them more grounds for suspicion."

"And if they decide you killed him in a jealous rage?"

To her surprise he smiled slightly. "Then I will point out that, were I prone to jealous rages against men who show an interest in you, there would be a trail of dead bodies stretching right across Melbourne."

She had to smile at that. If there were a man less prone to jealous rages than Jack Robinson then she had yet to meet him. And, she thought guiltily, she had given him ample provocation to jealousy over the course of their... damn, she really needed to think of a word for it before the police arrived.

...

The rest of the day passed in a mixture of frustration due to not knowing anything about what was going on, frustration due to attempting repeatedly to explain one's self to police officers who seemed intent on misconstruing everything you said, and frustration due to boredom. As Phryne had feared, it proved impossible to explain her relationship with Jack to any of the officers she spoke with, although with Jack's insistence on candour in mind she did make the effort with each successive Constable, Sergeant, and, finally, Detective Inspector.

"So, the two of you are in love, then?" Inspector Brown remarked with, she thought, an expression dangerously close to amusement on his face, after she had spent some time trying to explain her association with Jack Robinson.

"Of course not!" she responded. "That's what I've been telling you. Jack Robinson and I are friends, nothing more."

"In love and refusing to admit it," the D.I. expanded, this time with something that was most _definitely_ amusement on his face. Seeing her expression, he seemed to be suddenly overtaken by a fit of coughing. When it had finally subsided he nodded to her. "Thank you, Miss Fisher, that will be all at this stage. My Constable will escort you back to the parlour."

She wasn't certain why she and Jack had been allowed to remain together – and separate from the other guests, as well – unless it was because the police thought they had already had ample time for collusion and were endeavouring to keep them from influencing, or killing, any of the other guests. She was, however, grateful for it. Jack was already in the parlour when she arrived, returned from his own most recent interview. He gestured to the tea-tray on the table and raised an eyebrow at her. "Well?"

"Ugh!" She poured tea with entirely too much sugar as she spoke. "Asides from the fact that they all seem utterly convinced that you and I are tormented by unfulfilled desire for one another, their questions mostly seem to be centred around what happened between St. John and I right before we left last night: Why was I alone upstairs? Why didn't I cry out when Mr. Windstanleigh accosted me? Why didn't I fight back? Is it true that I've been intimate with a number of men in the past? Have I ever been intimate with Mr. Windstanleigh?" She knocked back tea as though it were whisky, and promptly spluttered as it scalded her. She set her cup down hurriedly before continuing. "Honestly, if in doubt, blame the woman."

"A story as old as the Garden of Eden," he agreed, wincing. Whilst he understood why his fellow officers had taken that line of questioning with her, that didn't mean he had to like it. "I, meanwhile, am apparently a jealous and possessive lover who refused to permit you to dance with, or even speak to, any other men last night and, when you finally evaded my attentions for a few moments, promptly tracked you down and forced you to leave even though you were clearly upset and wanted to remain."

Their eyes met and, after a moment, they both chuckled quietly. "But," he added when their laughter had subsided, "they don't seem to think that I killed Windstanleigh, so it's possible we may avoid arrest."

"Oh, thank heavens. I hate to say it, Jack, but police cells really don't come up to my usual standards."

"I'm sure if you asked nicely they'd arrange extra slopping out, just for you."


	4. Chapter 4

It was after lunch, and the other guests had been dismissed long ago, by the time D.I. Brown informed them that he was finished with them and they were free to depart. They heard nothing more for several days, but finally Jack was able to make his way to Phryne's residence one evening with new information.

"Inspector Robinson! What brings you here?" she exclaimed as Mr. Butler showed him in, smiling in pleasure at his arrival.

"News, on Mr. Windstanleigh's death," he replied, nodding his thanks as she gestured towards the whisky decanter.

"Oh?" She poured him a drink as he spoke.

"Yes. It seems that the police have finished their investigation and are going to recommend to the coroner that he rule the death to be accidental, and close the case."

"There's no way St. John's death was an accident," Phryne responded with annoyance, handing him his whisky and dropping back into her seat. He sat opposite her and gestured with his palm towards heaven.

"That seems to be the direction in which the evidence points. Mr. Windstanleigh had a not-insignificant quantity of alcohol in his blood, and they found a patch of blood and hair on the edge of the pool. Combined with the water in his lungs, it appears that Windstanleigh went out for a stroll by the pool in a state of intoxication, slipped, struck his head on the side, then fell unconscious into the water, where he drowned. An accident, pure and simple."

She folded her arms and glared at him. "When have you ever known me to be wrong about something like this?"

"There's a first time for everything."

"Are you refusing to help me investigate?"

He sighed and set his whisky aside, then reached out his left hand towards hers. Giving him a curious look, she placed her left hand in his, and he closed his fingers gently around it. Glancing at her face in reassurance he reached out with his right hand and undid the button on the cuff of her blouse, turning it back and gently pushing the sleeve up to expose her forearm. She couldn't help but close her eyes at the unfamiliar and long-imagined pleasure of his touch, feeling her heart flutter deliciously at the sensation. He, however, was frowning as he regarded the bruises that encircled her wrist like an obscene bangle.

"Don't ask me to forget how you came by these bruises, Miss Fisher," he remarked softly. "Don't ever ask me to forget that."

She smiled at him, touched by his evident concern. "Of course not. The fact that I want justice for St. John doesn't mean I liked the man, or that I'm particularly sorry that he's dead. But justice is blind. She doesn't overlook a murder just because the victim was a thoroughly unpleasant excuse for a human being. You taught me that."

He placed his right hand over her wrist, covering the bruises. "Even so. The thought that that's the kind of man your family want you to marry..."

"My family doesn't care who I marry, just as long as I finally become someone else's problem." His eyes jumped up to hers at that, and after a pause she continued without knowing why. "A month or so after Janey disappeared, there was a tremendous storm in Melbourne. The streets of Collingwood were – well, you can imagine. The next day I tracked mud all through the house. I didn't mean to, but... I remember my mother looking at me and saying 'why did it have to be Janey who vanished?'"

Jack was speechless. Her mother – _her own mother_ – had said that to her? Had all but told her that she would rather have been rid of Phryne, when surely she should have been grateful to have had at least one of her children left to her, regardless of which one it was? And suddenly he could see why her aunt would consider a man like St. John Windstanleigh to be a perfectly acceptable husband for Phryne: they simply didn't care about her. Oh, her aunt at least might be fond of her, but it was akin to the fondness that one might feel for a pet; an affectionate tolerance that lasted only as long as the animal was willing to obey her rules. They did not see Phryne as someone precious, to be treasured and defended, but only as an inconvenience, a problem to be solved or, failing that, palmed off onto any man who would take her, the 'highest bidder' as she herself had expressed it. He didn't realise he had tightened his grip on her hand until he heard her gasp and felt her try to draw her fingers away. He let her go at once.

"I apologise Miss Fisher, I-"

"No need." She cut him off with another reassuring smile. "I'm not used to people worrying about me, Jack. I'm not used to people caring about me as much as you seem to. But, I do appreciate it. And I'm sorry that I don't always do a very good job of showing it."

He nodded, as another insight presented itself. What basis did she have for valuing her safety and wellbeing, when her own family disregarded them so shamelessly? He realised she was looking at him curiously, her head tilted slightly to one side. "Jack?"

He gave himself a mental shake. "You're right, of course. If Windstanleigh's death _was_ murder, justice needs to be done. So, what information have you already gathered?"

Her eyes widened in an expression of such exaggerated innocence that he probably should have arrested her on the spot. "What makes you think I've been gathering information?"

"Call it a hunch," he suggested, and was rewarded with one of her throaty chuckles as she rose and walked past him out of the room. She returned a moment later with a manila folder, which she handed to him.

"Guest and staff lists, courtesy of Aunt Prudence. My own recollections of the evening, recorded as dispassionately as possible, and a fairly accurate plan of the house and gardens. I've marked the places that I think have a line of sight to the swimming pool. I've also made a few phone-calls over the last couple of days to people whom I know were there. Of course, there's only one thing everybody wants to talk about: anything pertinent is recorded in that notebook. Not exactly witness statements, but I've done my best."

She smiled at him like a proud schoolgirl hoping for approval, and he certainly wasn't going to withhold it. For someone who had been firmly sidelined from any official investigation and had obviously – for once – heeded his warning to stay away from both the body and the crime-scene, she had done an outstanding job. "Very impressive, Miss Fisher," he remarked as he looked the files over, and observed from the corner of his eye her obvious pleasure at his words. The lists he ignored for the moment, and the plans he merely glanced at, but his real choice was between her recollections of the evening and other peoples'. Feeling like a coward, he chose the latter. "So." He opened the notebook. "Was there anything that stood out to you?"

"Well, almost everyone noticed that I'd brought a man with me, and that I wasn't dancing. Some of them also saw what was going on at dinner. And, yes, their conclusions seemed to be either we're in love, or else you were twisting my arm-" she saw him wince at her choice of words, and winced herself in apology "-figuratively speaking, of course. But as far as St. John goes, the general consensus is that he was acting like a spoilt child in spite of the fact that he never really had a chance with me. After we left, he drank too much, poured vitriol on both of us to anyone who would listen, and then disappeared out onto the terrace, from whence no-one can remember seeing him return."

"And roughly what time was that?"

"A bit after 11 o'clock, but no-one was able to be more specific than that."

"Was there anyone with him?"

She sighed. "No-one can recall. A number of people had spilled out onto the terrace by then. Max Smythe – you remember him, he asked me to dance – remembers speaking to him for a while, but said he was so obviously drunk, and being so thoroughly vile about me, that he excused himself and went back inside. As near as I can determine, he was the last person who can recall seeing St. John alive."

"If he's telling the truth. And if no-one else is lying or mistaken about the time." He nodded. "It's a good start, and it explains why we were eliminated from the enquiry. 11 o'clock is about the time Mr. Butler told the police he heard us arrive back here; if Windstanleigh died before midnight, as the time on his watch suggests, we simply wouldn't have had time to drive back there and kill him."

"Which doesn't get us much closer to determining who did." Phryne frowned thoughtfully. "So, what's our next move?"

"Hmm." Jack considered. "I'll see if I can get my hands on the police file; spot anything my colleagues might have overlooked. Are you able to continue following up with the other guests? Perhaps, if there are some you can trust, you could share your suspicions – see if that encourages anyone to open up. And the staff..." He trailed off, knowing that neither he nor Phryne were in a position to make discrete enquiries with Mrs. Stanley's servants.

Phryne smiled. "Well, now that the case is officially closed, and I'm officially no longer a suspect, I suppose it's only right that I spend a day or two with my aunt, to offer her my support at this difficult time. And, of course, where would I be without my dear Companion?"

Jack nodded agreement. "I think Miss Williams is an excellent choice for this assignment, Miss Fisher."

"And perhaps you'd care to join us as well?"

He hesitated. "I'm not sure that's quite such a good idea. Your aunt was clearly less than impressed by my presence at her party. I think asking her to entertain me as an overnight guest would be a step too far."

"But you wouldn't be there as a guest. You'd be there as my professional associate, generously giving up his time off to assist me with my investigations. If there also happened to be an exceptionally nice dinner and some rather fine whisky to be had, plus some positively luxurious accommodation, well, that's just something you'll have to endure for the sake of truth and justice. When are you next off work?"

He sighed and gave in. One day, he really was going to have to learn how to say no to her, but, as was so often the case, her reasoning was sound. Besides, if he _wasn't_ there, God alone knew whom her aunt might take it into her head to invite over in order to provide Phryne with some male company.


	5. Chapter 5

_Romance ahoy! Let's get this ship asail. Thanks once again to Foxfireside, who once told me in response to a review commenting on the way Jack looks at Phryne 'EXACTLY! You need to write a fic right now that is based on those exact words.'. Well, here it is._

_Divine Miss P: I brought Arthur back._

* * *

Cousin Arthur greeted them with enthusiasm, Aunt Prudence with rather less. Phryne was surprised to see her Cousin Guy also present; she hadn't realised he was back in the country, but he had obviously emerged from wherever it was he had been skulking to support his mother, although Isabella was nowhere to be seen.

She left Dot to unpack in the suite her aunt had provided, then went in search of Jack. It didn't surprise her to find him in one of the smallest guest bedrooms at the far end of the wing, although it did amuse her. If she and Jack really had been lovers, she thought as she rapped on the door before immediately entering, did her aunt really believe that simply placing them at opposite ends of the hallway would be enough to keep her out of his bed?

"If you're going to enter straight away, what's the point in knocking?" Jack asked, without turning around from the bureau into which he was unpacking his small suitcase.

"Did my perfume give me away?" she responded, seating herself on the end of his bed.

His answer was amused rather than annoyed. "That, and your complete lack of manners."

"I came to help you unpack."

"Given the number of cases you brought, I imagine Miss Williams could use your assistance far more than I can." He placed the last pair of socks neatly in the bureau and closed it, then turned to her and leaned back against it.

"But Dot needs to look like my poor, hard-done-by servant if she's to bond with the staff over shared tales of her mistress's unjust treatment. And I wanted to see where Aunt Prudence had decided to hide you away."

He gestured to his surroundings. "It's not exactly the Black Hole of Calcutta, although I imagine your own accommodation is rather more lavish."

"Extremely, although it's also less private; Dot's room is attached."

"So I take it you won't be doing any late-night entertaining?"

"Well, not in _my_ room, at any rate." She bounced to her feet and smiled at him. "Come on, let's go examine the crime scene. I hope you brought your bathing suit."

A few moments later they were standing by the pool, its unruffled surface deceptively tranquil in the bright sunlight. They turned and looked back at the house, noting that much of the terrace and virtually every window on that side had a view of at least part of the pool, then examined the edges. The place where Windstanleigh had struck his head had been scrubbed clean, and Jack shrugged in exasperation. "I really don't know what you were hoping to find, Miss Fisher. I imagine your aunt had everything thoroughly cleaned as soon as the police would permit it."

"But I doubt she drained the pool, and you never know your luck." She gestured towards the pool-house. "Ladies to the right, gentlemen to the left. I'll race you." He considered pointing out just how many buttons he had to undo, but decided against it. Start down that track, and she was fully capable of enumerating every item of clothing she had to remove, in great detail.

A splash as he was pulling on his bathing suit informed him that she had beaten him once again, and he walked back out to the poolside to see her cutting effortlessly through the water. For a moment he just stood and watched. Gone were the days when he had averted his guilty gaze from her enticing form, the words 'lust' and 'adulterer' whispering through his mind. These days adultery was no longer a concern, and if he lusted after her, well, she wasn't merely beautiful, she was downright seductive. And not only did she know it, but she seemed at times to positively delight in throwing it in his face, until he had finally decided that the only thing to do was to meet her challenge head on and see where that led him. For Phryne Fisher, he would willingly walk the road to perdition. Barefoot, if necessary.

She turned at the end and called out to him. "Come on in Jack, the water's delicious."

His smile widened, and he cut the surface in a powerful dive that carried him most of the way to her. He briefly considered grabbing her legs underwater and pulling her down, an adolescent trick that would probably amuse her, and would most certainly amuse him. But her proximity to the edge of the pool made that a bad idea: she might strike her head, and the last thing the site needed was a third death, particularly one inflicted on the niece of the householder by a mischievous police inspector. Instead he surfaced much closer to her than propriety really allowed, and wiped his hair away from his eyes.

"Well, I'm in. What exactly are we looking for?"

"Any evidence that might have ended up at the bottom of the pool," she replied. "I watched every police officer we saw that day: not one of them had wet hair, which means that not one of them ventured into the water. If anything fell in that night, it might still be here. A cuff-link, a tie-pin..."

"A signed confession from our killer?"

She splashed him in irritation and, childishly, he splashed her back. For a few moments they forgot all about drownings and murderers and simply pursued one another around the pool, until he reached out and caught her flailing hand, pulled her closer and lifted her, squealing, into his arms and almost out of the water completely before dumping her back in with a splash. She surfaced wearing an expression of indignation, and swept her hair back from her face with exaggerated dignity.

"Really, Inspector, here we are with a crime scene to examine, and you're playing childish pranks."

He tried to school his expression to seriousness, and failed miserably. "My apologies, Miss Fisher, I shall endeavour to behave more appropriately."

After that they worked their way side by side from one end of the pool to the other, then back again further over. It took them only a short while to search every inch of the base, but there was nothing to be found.

"It looks like this is a wash-out," he remarked, surfacing to lean against the edge. Only then did he realise that Phryne was no longer beside him. Looking back along the pool he saw her floating face downwards, her dark hair spread like seaweed about her face. "Phryne!" His blood ran cold as he pushed off and launched himself to her side, turning her over and drawing her to his chest. To his surprise, relief, and annoyance, her eyes opened immediately.

"I was just wondering what drowning felt like," she remarked, blinking at him in confusion.

He opened his mouth, uncertain of what to say. What came out was a breathless "don't _ever_ do that to me."

Still in his arms, she reached up and placed her palm on his cheek. "Jack..."

"If I lost you, Phryne..."

She moved from his grasp and stood in front of him, just barely touching, her arms around his neck. Feeling slightly spellbound, he felt his arms encircle her waist and tug her slightly closer. There had been Windstanleigh, and her revelations about her family, and now this. His heart was pounding almost audibly as he examined her face from mere inches away.

Phryne looked up into Jack's eyes. Once again she had acted without thinking, and once again she had hurt him. Such a simple thing, to float face-down in the water, feeling its gentle caress against her body, but the look of terror on his face when he had gathered her to his chest had shocked her.

"Why do you care so much about me, Jack?" she whispered softly, searching his eyes for the answer. It wasn't her beauty and her body that he wanted, it was far more than that, although it had taken her a long time to recognise the fact. But that left her confused. She knew how she affected men, and knew that some of them would always believe their feelings for her to be love, but she had always known better. Their 'love' expressed itself in possession, first of her body and then, if she wasn't careful, in claims to her heart, mind and soul as well, until they seemed set to take over her entire life. Jack had promised her once that he would never ask her to be anything other than who and what she was, and though his eyes seemed to follow her every moment they were together what she saw in them was far more complex, and puzzling, than mere desire. The expression on his face now was a prime example.

At her question he blinked, slowly, like a man trying to remember who he was. He seemed to think for a moment, and then the words came out slowly and deliberately. "You make me smile," he told her, one hand going to her cheek. "Ever since the War, it felt like I'd forgotten how, but you? You reminded me. You're like sunlight in a dark room, the first hint of green after a drought. You... brought me back to life."

"But not all the way," she replied, moving closer to him, so that their bodies were no longer barely touching but firmly in contact, pressed against one another in the cool water, while his hand curved around to cradle the back of her head.

He gasped at the sensation, wrenching his eyes away from hers to stare over her head towards the house, although his mind wasn't interested in whatever he was seeing. "All the way, Miss Fisher? And what would happen after that? Would you bind yourself to me for life?" His eyes found their way back to hers. "I'm not a jealous man, Phryne, but the thought of sharing you with others? That's more than I could bear."

Now it was her turn to look away, composing her thoughts and choosing her words carefully. It occurred to her suddenly that her aunt's swimming pool, in which a body had been floating barely a week before, was an utterly absurd place to be having this conversation. But it seemed they _were_ having it, and she was nothing if not adaptable.

"Ever since I can remember, all I've wanted was freedom. Freedom from poverty and hunger. Freedom from having my life ruled by others. Freedom from feeling ashamed, and worthless, and as though I was never good enough. For the past ten years I've had all of that, and it's been... wonderful." She sought his eyes again. "But none of it has made me feel for one moment the way I feel when I'm with you. I don't know if that's the way love's supposed to feel, Jack, but..." she swallowed, "I think I'd give up almost anything if it meant I could be with you."

For a moment he just stared at her, as though he couldn't quite believe what he was hearing, and she couldn't blame him because she couldn't quite believe what she had just said, and still less that she had said it whilst standing in the middle of her aunt's swimming pool in the middle of an investigation. But then his eyes fluttered closed and, with a whispered "oh, Phryne," he kissed her.


	6. Chapter 6

_Just a **few** things before we begin:_

_Trigger warning: the next two chapters contain reference to incest._

_Save Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries:__ The wonderful mmkbrook, who was involved in the campaign to bring Cote de Pablo back to NCIS, offers the following advice for anyone wanting to help bring MFMM back for a third season:  
- Sign the petition (Google 'Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries' petition)  
- Contact ABC through their website to express your support for the show  
- 'Like' MFMM on Facebook  
- Contact your local broadcaster/s expressing your support for the show or desire to see it screened in your country (Kiwis, contact TVNZ. Americans, I'm told PBS might be a good bet. Brits, perhaps the BBC?)  
- Buy the DVDs (Region 4, and approximately $50AUD/USD): money talks  
- Spread the word  
- Fellow fanfic writers: if you want to copy and paste the above into your own author notes, please go ahead_

_A note for those who were wondering: the name St. John is pronounced 'Sin-jin'. I have no idea why_

_Thank you once again for all your reviews, which bring me so much joy. To those who asked 'do Phryne and Jack realise what the other will expect from them?' I hope the next few chapters will clarify things._

* * *

It seemed as though they stayed in the water for a long time, just kissing. His kisses were everything she had ever imagined, and more: passionate, yes, and torturously slow and tender, but also filled with a sweetness she had never known before and accompanied by whispered snatches of semi-nonsensical endearments, references to shared experiences and confidences, moments she remembered and others which she had forgotten until he called them to mind again. Jack lifted Phryne closer and, with the water helping to support her weight, she wrapped her legs around his waist, feeling his evident arousal as he held her there, a sensation which only intensified her own as she pressed herself to him. Eventually, however, not even the heat rising between them could compete with the cooling effects of the water, and Phryne shivered in his arms. He pulled away reluctantly and looked at her, noticing that her skin seemed even paler than usual.

"We'll catch a chill staying in here," he remarked, "and we still have a murder to solve."

She nodded and peeled herself slowly away from him, partly out of reluctance and partly because she was more chilled than she had realised, and her body was slow to respond to her commands. Back in the pool-house she fumbled with her clothing until eventually she was dressed and could make her way back into the sunshine.

"I was beginning to think I should send in a search party," Jack remarked. He laid the back of his hand on her cheek and, realising that she was still cold, removed his jacket and wrapped it around her shoulders. "Perhaps we should find somewhere warm to sit for a while," he suggested, offering her his arm.

It didn't take long to find a spot that was both sunny and secluded from the house. The newness and unexpectedness of what had happened in the pool was still sinking in for both of them, and they both felt the need for a short time alone together without intrusion. Jack slipped his arm about her shoulders as they sat side by side on a sun-warmed stone bench. She looked up at him almost shyly, and he responded to her unspoken request with a soft kiss.

"Jack," she whispered softly. "I understand if you need time, if you want to take things slowly, or wait-"

"I want _you_," he replied in equally confidential tones. "I want whatever you want, whatever makes you happy."

"And I want whatever makes _you_ happy," she responded, one hand playing with the fabric of his waistcoat and tie. "So perhaps we both need to be a little clearer about what that is."

He nodded. "Alright. Ladies first."

She smiled at that, at his innate courtesy that allowed her to get away with far too much. "I want what we already have," she told him. "Whatever else may happen between us, I don't want that to change. I want us to solve cases together, to drink whisky together, to quote Shakespeare at each other. But I also want us to _be_ together. I want to kiss you, and touch you – not while we're working, I know that – and feel you hold me when I'm sad. I want you to be a part of the other side of my life: to attend dinner parties with me, to dance with me in a ballroom full of people, to escort me to the theatre if you can stand it. I want... everything."

He smiled and leaned his forehead against hers. "I want everything, too," he told her. "I want to kiss away the shadows of your past; give you a future that's full of love. And I don't ever want you to feel trapped, or afraid, because of me." And then he did what he had been wanting to do ever since the night he had interrupted Windstanleigh's assault on her. He took her left hand in his, pushed up her sleeve, raised it to his lips, and gently kissed each one of the now-fading bruises. "What Windstanleigh did to you-" kiss "-what Dubois did to you-" kiss "-all the cruel words your family ever said to you-" kiss "-I don't ever want you to think about them again-" kiss "-without remembering how much I love you." He finished with a kiss on her lips, and another on her forehead.

"And tonight?" she asked, while she was still leaning against his lips.

"Whatever you want, Phryne," he replied, drawing her into his embrace. She turned to lean against him, the combined warmth of his jacket, and his body, and the sun, beginning to draw the water's chill from her bones. She looked around dreamily as she did so, drowsy with contentment, then sat up suddenly as something caught her attention.

"Phryne?"

She stood, reaching behind her absently for his hand, and stepped across the small clearing to the hedge. "Does it look as though someone's forced their way through these bushes to you?"

"Now that you mention it..." He pushed branches aside, revealing a trail that had obviously been broken in the not-too-distant past, trying to recall the plan of the house and grounds that she had shown him. "What's through here, Miss Fisher?"

"Phryne," she corrected in the same absent way she had reached for his hand, "and the driveway, I think. These trees form a screen, then there's a strip of grass and the trees of the avenue."

"From the way the branches are bent, someone was forcing their way from the grounds to the driveway, not from the driveway to the grounds." He noticed a few strands of hair caught on a twig level with his eyes and retrieved them, holding them out for her to examine. "Thoughts?"

"Well, they're too short for a woman, and a woman would have to be quite tall to catch her hair that high up anyway." She grasped his wrist and brought the hairs closer to her sensitive nose for a sniff. "Men's hair oil." She turned his hand in a patch of sunlight. "A slight reddish cast. A well-groomed man with a reddish cast to his hair."

"Does that describe anyone from the party?"

"Not that I can recall, but hair doesn't always look the same under artificial light."

He reached for the lapel of his jacket, which she was still wearing. "May I?"

She smiled at him and pushed her shoulders back slightly, inclining her bosom towards him in a way that made him smile. "Be my guest."

He chuckled, then reached for one of the evidence envelopes that he kept in his inner breast pocket. If the back of his hand just happened to graze her bosom in the process, well, it was purely an accident, of course. He secured the hairs, then passed the envelope back to her to be returned to its place. He glanced at his watch as he did so, and raised an eyebrow. "We should return to the house. They must be wondering where we are."

Sure enough, everyone else was seated at the table eating a luncheon of cold cuts, salad and bread when they arrived.

"Phryne, where on earth have you been?" Aunt Prudence demanded.

"I told you, Mother, they were examining the swimming pool for evidence, then I assume they continued their investigations elsewhere in the grounds," Guy remarked, giving his cousin a knowing smirk. She smirked back at him as she took her seat.

"Well, I hope you're not planning on straying so far from the house tomorrow morning. Ashley Parkes telephoned. He heard you were visiting, and will be coming to take tea with you at eleven. I thought perhaps you could have it in the green sunroom."

"Won't you be joining us, Aunt Prudence?" Phryne enquired as she served herself from the platters on the table.

"I thought it would be nice for the two of you to share it alone."

"That's very kind of you, aunt, but don't you think someone should be there to chaperone? I'm sure Jack would be only too happy to oblige."

"Phryne Fisher, if even half the rumours I've heard about you are true, providing an entire convent of nuns to chaperone you still wouldn't be enough to salvage your reputation, and I hardly think the police inspector to whom a goodly proportion of those rumours relate is at all suited to the task." Perhaps realising she had gone too far, she cleared her throat. "No offence meant, Inspector."

Jack regarded her levelly for a moment. Offence had most certainly been meant, to Phryne if not to him, and he was unwilling to pretend otherwise. "Of course not," he replied eventually.

The rest of the meal passed in awkward silence, and everyone seemed relieved when the last of the tea had been drunk and they could go their separate ways. Phryne and Jack both headed to their bedrooms to groom and tidy themselves properly after their swim. Jack was just straightening his tie when he heard a discreet tap at his door. As it did not immediately swing open, he knew his visitor wasn't Phryne. "Come in," he called.

"Inspector." It was Dot, looking even more nervous than she usually appeared in his presence, perhaps due to the absence of her mistress or, indeed, any other chaperone. Unlike Phryne Fisher, Dorothy Williams had the sort of reputation which one did not obtain by spending time alone and unchaperoned in men's bedrooms.

"Miss Williams. What can I do for you?"

"It's about Miss Phryne."

"Go on."

"I was asking about with the servants, like you asked, and I didn't learn anything about Mr. Windstanleigh's death – although he was very ungentlemanly with one of the maids earlier in the evening – but I heard something else that I thought you should know." She hesitated, biting her lip.

"Well?" he prompted, when it seemed obvious that she wouldn't continue on her own.

"It's about Miss Phryne and- and Mr. Guy. When they were children, before the War. One of the older gardeners was in the kitchen, and he said..."

"He said...?"

"That he was surprised that Miss Phryne could stand to be in the same house as Mr. Guy, after what he did to her all those years ago."

Jack's heart skipped a beat. Granted, he didn't yet _know_ what Guy Stanley was purported to have done, but he could guess. Was Phryne ever to be safe from predatory males? He swallowed, and caught Dot's gaze with his own.

"Miss Williams. I need you to tell me exactly what you heard."

The girl took a deep breath of her own, obviously steeling herself for something unpleasant. "That Mr. Guy forced himself on Miss Phryne, and his father beat him for it, but the family never did anything else about it."

He didn't realise that he had pushed past her until he was already halfway down the corridor to Phryne's room. "Miss Fisher!"


	7. Chapter 7

_Once again, thank you all for your lovely reviews. I'm glad to know people are still reading, and enjoying, this fic. _

* * *

"Phryne!" She wasn't in her room, and he headed down the stairs at a run. "Where's Miss Fisher?" he demanded of a startled maid.

"I-in the library," she stammered, "with Mr. Guy."

"Which way is that?"

Mute with fear, she pointed, and an endless moment later he burst through the doors to find his love and her cousin seated opposite one another in two chairs, drinks in hand. One look at his face, and Phryne was on her feet.

"You. Out. Now." he growled at Guy, in tones which promised imminent violence if he was not obeyed.

"Jack..." Phryne began, moving to place herself between the two men, her eyes never leaving Jack's face.

"It appears those old rumours have finally made their way to your inspector's ears," Guy drawled, still seated.

"Get away from her, and get out. Now."

"Jack..." Phryne tried again, and then, to her cousin, "you'd better do as he asks, Guy. I'll sort it all out and we can talk later."

With a shrug of pure arrogance, her cousin drained his glass, rose unhurriedly, and made his way to the French doors leading into the garden. When he had gone, Jack turned to Phryne, closing the gap between them and taking her hands in his. "Is it true, Phryne? The rumours about what he did to you?"

She sighed. "I'd rather not discuss it here. Can we talk in my room?"

He nodded and she led the way, shutting the door behind them when they arrived. "Now, what exactly did you hear?"

"That he forced himself on you, when you were still a child." He had expected tears, anger, fear, all the usual reactions to remembered trauma, but instead she tilted her head on one side as though considering this information.

"Well, I was thirteen, so I think 'child' is stretching it a bit. And he didn't force me, Jack."

"Then what happened? Why is there this vile rumour that he- that he hurt you?"

She sighed again and turned away, evading his gaze. "You won't think well of me when you hear it."

The anger drained out of him at her quiet words and he went to her, laying his hands on her shoulders. "Whatever you tell me, it won't change things," he promised. "I would never turn my back on you over something that happened when you were a mere child."

She relaxed slightly, leaning into his touch. "Well, as I said, I was thirteen and Guy was fifteen, so I think 'child' is a bit of an exaggeration. We used to come up here sometimes to visit, my family and I. Aunt Prudence may not have been willing to openly defy her parents after they cut my mother off, but she wasn't willing to turn her back on us completely, either. I remember that particular day was thoroughly wet and miserable. The adults were engaged in some interminable conversation about goodness knows what, and Arthur, Guy, and I were expected to be seen and not heard. Eventually we slipped away and headed up to – well, I suppose it wasn't really a playroom by then, but it had been when the boys were younger. Arthur found something to amuse himself with and Guy and I played cards. But eventually I got bored, and started looking for trouble.

"Guy had a collection of toy soldiers of which he was particularly proud. They were more like small works of art, really, and I knew a sure way to get a rise out of him was to begin interfering with them, so naturally that was what I began to do. Of course, he told me to stop and put them down, and I started taunting him with one held just out of his reach. He tried to grab it, and I stepped away, and the next moment we were playing tag along the corridor, with his little toy soldier as the prize.

"I was ducking in and out of rooms and around beds and we were both laughing our heads off. Eventually he caught me and we ended up on one of the beds, Guy still trying to grab that soldier and me still determined not to give it up." She bowed her head. "But we weren't children anymore, Jack. One moment we were playing an innocent game, and the next... I could feel his body on top of me, the warmth and the weight of him, and I was suddenly so _aware_ of him. And when he looked at me, I knew he was feeling that same awareness. And he kissed me, and I kissed him, and we both knew it was wrong, but it felt so good, and we were both so young. God, we were so young.

"It was all over in a few minutes, and that was when I started crying. I knew if my father found out he'd likely beat me within an inch of my life, and probably throw me out on the street as well."

Jack's arms slid around her. "Phryne..."

She tilted her head back against his shoulder, and he kissed her cheek. "And Guy was... marvellous. There's no other word for it. There he was, still just a boy himself, but all he could think about was protecting me from the consequences of what we'd done. He made me swear that if anyone ever found out, if anyone ever asked what had happened, I would say that he forced me. And he promised me that if I did he wouldn't deny it, and he'd take whatever punishment he was given."

She turned to Jack at last. "I was the poor Collingwood cousin, Jack. He was the rich young heir. Whatever consequences he might have faced for that lie would have been trivial compared with what I would have faced if we'd told the truth, and we both knew it. And as soon as we got back downstairs, we knew the game was up. Arthur must have seen something, said something... we couldn't blame him; he's not much more than a baby, really. My father grabbed my arm and demanded to know what I'd been up to. I looked at Guy, and he nodded at me, ever so slightly, and..."

"And you lied to them," Jack finished for her. "You let Guy protect you, as he promised he would."

She nodded, tears welling in her eyes at the memory. "My father let go of me and launched himself at Guy. His father stepped between them, my mother was screaming about how I was ruined and no-one would ever want me now... Guy's father dragged him off for a beating and my parents hurried me away home, and that was it. Nothing more was ever said on the subject, and Guy and I were never left alone together again until after the War." She paused, watching Jack's face as her words sank in. He seemed thoughtful but not angry, and, perhaps most importantly, he was still holding her close to him. "My cousin is lascivious, indolent, arrogant, and thoroughly spoilt. But he is not a rapist."

To her relief he sighed and drew her in to rest with her head on his shoulder. "I suppose I should be grateful that there's at least one member of your family who's willing to stand up for you."

She smiled and touched his cheek. "And you're not angry with me? Or... anything else? He is my cousin, after all."

Jack shrugged. "But, as you say, you were both very young." He frowned. "I'm assuming that's the only time the two of you have..."

"Of course! God, Jack, it was strictly a one-off. Believe me, quite apart from the lack of opportunity we were both so shocked by it all that there was no possibility of it ever happening again."

He nodded, relieved. "These things happen, I suppose. God knows, I've seen worse. But, weren't your family suspicious when you forgave him so easily?"

She gave a derisive snort. "My family just wanted to pretend nothing had happened. Seeing me 'get over it' so quickly suited them just fine. Except for the servants, whose opinions were worth precisely nothing, nobody thought to question it."

His lips thinned in disapproval at this further proof of their lack of concern for her. It seemed that Guy was the only exception to have bothered prove that rule. The thought lightened his mood somewhat. "You're right," he told her, "Guy was marvellous."

She kissed him gently. "I'm glad you agree. Of course, you realise you have to punch him in the face?"

"What?"

"Well, not necessarily the face, but visible bruising would be the best. I told you, Jack: as far as everyone else is concerned – _everyone_ else – Guy raped me all those years ago. Half the household must have heard you shouting at him, which means that they all know you know. If you _don't_ punch him they'll wonder why." Her voice quietened. "It's one thing for you to know, but I couldn't stand it if everybody else found out."

He nodded reluctantly. "I suppose I'd better go and get it over with, then."

...

He found Guy Stanley in the rose garden. The man raised a sardonic eyebrow at him as he stalked deliberately forward, trying to play the outraged lover as best he could with the knowledge of the truth firmly in his mind.

"I take it my cousin has finally decided to tell someone the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

"She has indeed, and I believe I owe you an apology. And my thanks. You didn't have to protect her the way you did."

He shrugged. "I've always had a soft spot for Cousin Phryne. But I don't believe we can simply shake hands and walk away after your little scene in the library."

"Phryne told me I should punch you in the face."

Guy nodded. "An eminently practical woman, our Phryne Fisher, and yes, I think a nice bruise on the jaw should maintain the charade admirably." He tilted his head in invitation, then looked at Jack again when the policeman hesitated. "Oh, don't worry about it. You'll hardly be the first outraged boyfriend to take a swing at me."

Still Jack held back. Striking an innocent - in this case, at least - and unarmed man, who was making no attempt to defend himself, went against every instinct he had. Guy's supercilious smile widened with a mixture of amused understanding and condescension.

"Or perhaps I need to give you an incentive. Do I really need to talk about the way I touched her young, unformed-" That was enough. Jack's fist connected squarely with Guy's jaw in a powerful right hook that almost sent the man to the ground. He stepped back, regarding him warily. Guy gasped and spluttered. "There," he choked out after a moment. "Satisfaction all round, and Phryne's reputation safe between the two of us. You'll understand if I don't shake your hand."

* * *

_Seriously, I couldn't make her ENTIRE family awful. Not that Guy isn't pretty awful anyway..._


	8. Chapter 8

What with one thing and another, Jack had almost forgotten they had a case to solve, but Phryne evidently hadn't and met him as he returned from the rose garden, armed with her manila folder.

"How's your fist?" she asked.

"Better than your cousin's jaw," he replied, reluctant to say anything else as long as there was even the possibility of being overheard. Guy had gone to great lengths to protect Phryne's reputation: he owed it to them both to continue the charade.

"Excellent, then I take it honour is satisfied, and nothing more need be said on the subject?"

"Indeed."

"In that case, we may as well go over our case again." She led him to the same parlour in which they had awaited the police on the day St. John Windstanleigh's body had been found and laid the file out on the low table between the two armchairs, seating herself in one and waiting until he could pull the other around so that he was more or less alongside her, the table acting as an impromptu desk.

"I spoke with Dot, and apart from old rumours about my cousin and I the staff had very little to add. They were rushed off their feet, apparently, and with so many guests coming and going no-one can remember seeing anything pertinent. St. John did make some thoroughly inappropriate advances to a young maid before dinner, and the housekeeper kept her in the kitchen for the rest of the evening, but unfortunately that isn't as rare as it might be on occasions such as this."

"The 'poor Collingwood cousin' effect?"

She nodded. "Exactly. But what we can infer is that there was a second man by the pool that night, and whatever he saw or did was enough to send him on a direct line from the pool away from the house and out onto the driveway."

"Meaning he either committed the murder, or saw who did."

"Agreed. I think we should go back and search the path down to the bushes more thoroughly. Then, once we get back to the city, I can begin calling on any guests whose hair-colour I can't recall or might be a match."

"I'm not sure I like the sound of that."

She gave him a fond smile for his concern. "I know, but this isn't an official investigation. I'll be making social calls and hoping to turn something up. That isn't really something I can include you in. Not unless you'd like knowledge of our relationship to become very public, very fast, and while I would hope you aren't that ashamed of me, there are limits."

He smiled, taking her hand. "I could never be ashamed of you, but you're right. While I have no intention of keeping our relationship a secret I also have no desire to announce it to half of Melbourne Society. What I will do is speak to my colleagues, and see if I can convince them to re-examine the case based on new evidence."

She gave a satisfied nod. "I was hoping you might say that. For now, let's see how many calls I'm going to have to make."

Half an hour later, they had eliminated two-thirds of the guest list on the basis that they were female, had hair that was most definitely not red-brown, or were bald.

"Quite a manageable list," Phryne remarked, pleased. "Now, the gardens."

The afternoon was beginning to cool as they made their way past the pool – someone had retrieved their bathing suits and swabbed down the tiles, leaving no evidence of their time there – and back down the path they had strolled along earlier. Then, they had been entirely wrapped up in one another, but now they noticed the broken twigs and scattered gravel which indicated a hasty and careless passage at some point in the recent past, clearly overlooked by gardeners focussed on maintaining the more heavily-trafficked areas closer to the house. One shrub, which marked a sudden turn in the path, looked as though someone had more or less charged straight over it, leaving it distinctly the worse for wear.

"Someone was definitely in a hurry," Jack remarked.

"And not looking where they were going. How bright was the moon that night, Jack, do you remember?"

He thought for a moment. "There was quite a bit of cloud. I remember I was worried it might rain before I got you home."

"So it wouldn't have been easy for them to see where they were going."

...

They returned to the house in plenty of time to wash up for dinner and, in Phryne's case, to change into a positively stunning dress. She was putting the finishing touches to her appearance when Jack knocked on her door, and he smiled broadly at the sight of her.

"Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?" he asked, taking her hands in his and kissing her cheek, to a soft gasp of delight from Dot.

Phryne smiled and preened slightly. "So you have noticed, then?"

"Oh, most definitely. May I accompany you to dinner?"

"Just a moment." She gave herself a final once-over in the mirror then, with a cheerful "Coming, Dot?" took his arm and walked with him to the dining room.

Prudence's lips thinned in distaste at seeing her niece on his arm once again, but Guy's smile was approving, if a touch dirty, above what was already turning into a lovely bruise.

True to Phryne's word, the dinner was excellent, even though the conversation was somewhat lacking. Prudence's disapproval manifested itself in cold silence and, as she was the hostess, there was only so much the other guests could do to lift the mood. Guy and Phryne did their best with amusing tales of their childhood, early adolescence, and adult life in London and on the Continent, although more than once Phryne cut off her cousin's stories with a glance at their table companions and a fond "_pas devant les enfants_, cousin." A quiet word from Phryne to Dot earlier in the day had evidently been enough to settle her anger towards Guy, but it was clear that the demure young Catholic didn't approve of her mistress's licentious relative, and she gave much of her attention to Arthur, who was just happy to see his cousin again and, mercifully, went the entire evening without a single reference to Janey. This effectively left Jack as the sole audience, shocked and amused by turns, to a succession of stories that served to remind him once again of his lover's inventiveness, resourcefulness, and plain mischievousness. Still, it was a relief when the meal was over and they could go their separate ways.

...

Much later that night Jack lay in the darkness of his room, drowsy but not quite asleep. He had wondered whether Phryne might visit him, but time was slipping by and the house remained silent. Perhaps she was worried that he would be uncomfortable with allowing their relationship to progress so far so soon? He could understand why she might think him reluctant, and was well aware that he would only have himself to blame if she decided to stay away.

Meanwhile, in her own bed, Phryne stared sleeplessly at the ceiling. She had promised herself that she would not go to Jack that night, that she would let him take the lead when it came to the pace of their relationship, but now all she could think about was the feeling of his body against hers in the pool, his arms about her when she told him about Guy, the way he had looked at her in her evening dress, unashamed for once to be staring at her. Quietly, she retrieved the bakelite case from her night-stand and attended to the necessary precautions, then slipped from her bed and reached for her robe. After all, she told herself, they did not have to make love. In the past they had spent their evenings together simply talking over drinks into the small hours. This needn't be any different from that, if he didn't want it to be.

He heard his door open when he was almost asleep, and smiled as soft footsteps made their way inside and closed it with a quiet click. A whisper of perfume confirmed the identity of his visitor. "You didn't bother knock this time," he murmured as he turned towards her and opened his eyes. He could just make out her silhouette in the darkness, still standing by the door.

"Do you want me to go?"

He hesitated for only a moment, the ghost of a memory flitting across his mind. Once before she had asked him that question, and he had answered in the affirmative, to grief and pain on both sides. He shook the thought away. That had been another time, under very different circumstances. This was now, and the reality of what her presence in his room meant struck him full-force. He knew that he probably should tell her to go – but she hadn't asked him what he thought she _should_ do. She had asked him what he wanted. That wasn't something he was particularly used to thinking about, but as soon as he did the answer was obvious.

"No," he whispered, lifting the covers in invitation. "I want you to stay. I want that very much."

She dropped her robe to the floor and climbed into bed beside him, feeling him draw the covers up over her and wrap his arms around her. A soft kiss pressed itself to her lips, and for a while they simply lay there, looking into one another's eyes in the dark.

What did he want? he wondered. To make love to her, yes, but more than that, too. He wanted to hold her all night, talk until daybreak, whisper Shakespeare in her ear, make her laugh that delicious laugh. Her hand moved, stroking his cheek, his shoulder, running gently down over his chest to rest over his heart, and he closed his eyes. It had been a long time since anyone had touched him so intimately.

"What do you want, Jack?" She whispered the question into the darkness, trusting that he would be honest with her. Normally she could tell what men wanted, but she couldn't do that with Jack. Perhaps it was because he kept his feelings too tightly under wraps, or perhaps it was because her own feelings kept getting in the way, but she hadn't the faintest idea how to proceed, or even whether to proceed at all.

He opened his eyes and, again, considered before answering. "Kiss me, Phryne?" And then, after she had obliged him with a kiss so rich in desire that he couldn't possibly doubt what she wanted, "touch me. Let me touch you."

"Like this?"

"Mmm, yes."

"And you know you can... oh, yes."

A few moments later, "yes, there."

And then, between gasps and moans and some rather comical grunts:

"Oh, yes."

"Like that."

"Mmm, Jack."

"Oh, Phryne. God."

"Like this?"

"Just like that."

"More. Right there."

"Don't stop."

"Oh God."

"Oh."

"Oh."

"OH."

Hands touching, caressing, following lines they had only ever dreamed of exploring. Kisses pressed to hungry mouths and heated skin. Passion building to frenzy, and frenzy reaching its peak before giving way to release. Then slowing, slowing, until at last they lay sated in one another's arms. Jack buried his lips in her hair. "I love thee, I love but thee," he murmured softly.

"Which play is that from?" she whispered, unable to place the line.

"Hamlet," he admitted.

That made her laugh. "Really, Jack? The one where everyone ends up dead?"

"I believe the gravedigger survives."

"Just as well; he must have had his work cut out for him." She became serious, and tipped her head up to lock her gaze onto his. "But I love you too, Jack Robinson."

* * *

_A friend of mine once summed up Hamlet along the lines of "You have to wonder what Shakespeare was going through when he wrote it: NO-ONE makes it out alive! It's like he just went 'ah, f*** it; kill them, kill them all'". Somehow, the juxtaposition of romance and bloody mayhem seemed perfect for Phryne and Jack._


	9. Chapter 9

_Only two chapters to go! Thank you once again to all the lovely people who took the time to review this fic: I find it tremendously encouraging to hear from you. Special thanks to the blogger at phryneandjack tumblr who called my fics 'beautiful'. That was just lovely to hear._

* * *

In the pre-dawn light, he examined her sleeping face. How could he ever have hesitated before asking her to stay with him? She looked so perfect lying in the warm circle of his arms. He trailed a finger across her cheek almost reverently. They still had a killer to catch, he recalled absently, but they had done all they could on that until they returned to Melbourne that afternoon. Tomorrow morning he would be back at work. What would happen then? He smiled at himself in amusement. In all probability, very little would change, at least in the immediate future. They would still do what they did best, and he would still make his way to her house of an evening for whisky and talk, perhaps a little more frequently now – or a lot more frequently, if he was honest – and those nights would no longer end with him back on the street making his way home alone to his cold, empty bed. He would accompany her to some of the dances and dinners she attended, and try not to feel too out of place amongst her glittering social set. He would invite her to accompany him to the Policeman's Ball, and introduce her to his family – not all at once, as there were a few people who definitely wouldn't approve of her, but he knew his mother was desperate to meet the woman he 'obviously adored'. Yes, the future was looking bright this morning.

Phryne awoke to the feeling of someone pressing gentle kisses into her hair. Her lips curved into a warm smile as she remembered the night before. Jack. She had learned long ago not to think too much about the future, but now she couldn't help but feel a flutter of pleasure at the thought of waking up in his arms again, and again, and again. She opened her eyes and smiled sleepily up at him. "Good morning."

His voice was rough with sleep, his cheeks scratchy with stubble, his hair tousled by passion. She thought he had never looked so handsome. "Good morning," he replied, and then, after a moment's hesitation, "my darling."

She felt herself grinning ridiculously at the pleasure of that. "My love," she responded, pulling him down for a kiss.

"My treasure," he responded, lips still brushing hers.

She kissed his neck. "My dear."

He kissed her back, pushing the covers away so that he could press his lips to her shoulder. "Beautiful."

Her hands ran over his back. "My hero."

His lips moved across her collarbone. "My sweetheart."

"My knight in shining armour."

"My love."

She pulled back slightly and pouted at him in mock indignation. "I already had that one."

"Fair enough." He thought for a moment, then grinned cheekily. "My cabbage."

That made her laugh in the midst of her passion. "My... teddy bear."

"Phryne, that's dreadful! My carpet slipper."

"That's even worse! My-" She broke off suddenly as they both heard a sound that indicated someone else was up and the household was beginning its day. "Perhaps I should go," she suggested reluctantly.

He nodded. "I'll see you at breakfast?"

"That's likely to be a while. Why don't we dress and have coffee in the rose garden together?"

"An excellent idea."

...

"You realise we're having tea with Ashley Parkes at eleven?" she reminded him as they sat in the morning-cool garden a half-hour later. If the servants had been surprised by a request for coffee in the garden so early in the morning, they knew it wasn't their place to ask questions.

"In the... 'green sunroom'?" Now that she mentioned it, of course he remembered, but he hadn't been thinking about the rest of the day, or their case. Phryne was wrapped in a shawl made of some sort of pale mauve fabric, and most of his attention was on fighting the urge to reach out and discover whether it really was as soft as it looked. Regardless of how he had touched her the night before, he wasn't sure whether she would appreciate being petted like a kitten apropos of nothing.

"Mmm. I suppose it will be a chance to ask whether he saw anything, but I'm not sure how much help he'll be. Ashley's a sweetheart, but by all accounts he's been a bit strange ever since the War."

"Oh?" The War had sent everyone a 'a bit strange' in his opinion, and he was curious about what she meant.

She looked across at him, sipping her coffee. "He volunteered almost at the outbreak, but was captured barely six months later. Spent the rest of the War as a POW. I suppose under those circumstances a lot of men would have become hardened, but Ashley seems to be the complete opposite. He wouldn't hurt a fly – quite literally. He's a vegetarian, a pacifist. I'm not sure whether he's even willing to raise his voice to anyone."

"You know him quite well, then?"

She chuckled, although his tone had been neutral. "He's been at all three of Aunt Prudence's parties. We ended up talking quite a lot at the second. _Just_ talking," she added with a smile. "I do prefer a bit of spirit in a man. But he was thoroughly sympathetic about Aunt P and her schemes."

"And you weren't interested in him?"

"I'm not really interested in _anyone_ my aunt chooses to throw at me." She reached across for his hand. "Or anyone else, for that matter."

...

The sunroom really was incredibly sunny, and Jack shifted uncomfortably in his suit. Prudence had thinned her lips in displeasure when he had quietly followed Phryne in and taken a seat in one of the wicker chairs, but he had given her a bland smile and let Phryne handle it.

"_What_ you think you need a chaperone for..." the older woman muttered, as she bustled out. Jack caught Phryne's eye and smiled, thinking of all the things they'd been doing in their very-much-unchaperoned state in his room just a few hours earlier. He had to admit that just maybe her aunt had a point about the two of them together...

A few moments later, the Stanleys' butler showed Mr. Ashley Parkes into the room. The man was dressed in much the same manner as Jack, in a suit complete with waistcoat and tie, and with his hair oiled back, although the chain of a pocketwatch across his jacket harked back to a slightly earlier era. It was his hair, however, that caught Phryne's attention. A brown that in other circumstances might have appeared nondescript, in the bright light of the sunroom it glowed with a reddish undertone. She shot a quick look in Jack's direction, and knew from his slight nod that he had seen it too.

"Ashley," she exclaimed, rising smoothly and offering her hand. "How nice to see you again. And you remember Inspector Robinson, I'm sure."

"Of course." Parkes smiled as he kissed Phryne's hand, but his expression turned wooden as he offered his hand to Jack. "Inspector."

"Mr. Parkes. A pleasure."

"Mrs. Stanley mentioned you were here," Parkes commented. He didn't seem pleased, and Jack wondered whether he had unreciprocated feelings for Phryne. If so, he could sympathise.

"Oh yes," Phryne responded, in a light tone. "The Inspector's been assisting me with a case. He came up with me yesterday." She gestured for their guest to be seated, and began pouring tea from the tray a maid had discreetly deposited.

"A case? How intriguing."

"Yes. We're trying to piece together what happened the night St. John Windstanleigh died."

Parke's expression froze. "You don't say. I heard it was all just a terrible accident. Fellow was drunk and fell in the pool."

"Was that really how it happened, Ashley?" Phryne asked gently.

When Parkes didn't respond, Jack added, "we know you were there."

Parkes stood, shaking his head. "No, it wasn't like that."

"Then tell us how it was." Jack also stood as he spoke, and Phryne rose as well. Parkes' eyes shifted from one to the other, and suddenly he reached into his pocket and drew a gun. He pointed it at Jack, who immediately went still and put his hands up.

"How could you possibly understand?" Parkes demanded, speaking to Jack and glancing only occasionally at Phryne, who had also gone still, not wanting to antagonise him into pulling the trigger. "You're just the same as him. I watched you with Phryne that night; you never left her alone. You wouldn't let her dance with anyone; you wouldn't even let her talk to anyone. She's like a bird, and you- you'd put her in a cage! Shut her away forever and never let her be free again."

"Jack's not like that, Ashley," Phryne said, in what she hoped was a soothing tone, aware that Jack's life might well hang on her every word. "He accompanied me to the party because I asked him to, because I wanted him there. I was tired of the whole thing; of Aunt Prudence's scheming, and St. John's games. That was why I wasn't dancing or talking with anybody else; it was because _I_ didn't want to. Not because of anything Jack did or didn't do to me."

"St. John was like a madman after you left," Ashley told her. "He just kept drinking and raving to anyone who'd listen about- he said terrible things about you, Phryne. I was on the terrace, and he cornered me. Everyone else was avoiding him, and I tried to walk away. I went down to the pool, but he followed me. In the end, I couldn't stand it. I turned around and I told him that he had no right to say those things about you, that you'd be miserable with him; that being with him would kill you. He laughed at me and pushed me, and I backed away. Then he came at me again, but somehow he tripped. He fell into the water, and I thought perhaps it'd sober him up, but he just floated there, facedown."

"And so you left him there," Phryne said after a moment.

Parkes nodded. "I did it for you, Phryne. I knew the only way he'd ever leave you alone was if he was dead, and I couldn't stand the thought of what he might do to you." He began to weep, with his gun still pointed at Jack. "I did it for you, Phryne. I did it for you."

Jack saw the look of horror on Phryne's face and reached out to her without thinking. Parkes' head snapped up, and he cocked the gun. "Don't... don't touch her!"

"Ashley, Jack wasn't going to hurt me. Jack would never hurt me. But if you shoot him, that will hurt me very much. Because I love him very much."

"But... at the party? The way he treated you!"

"Jack wasn't trying to control me, Ashley. He was supporting me. Making me laugh, protecting me from St. John. Just like you were trying to do when you walked away from that pool. Please, Ashley, put the gun down."

"You love him?"

"Yes."

"And he's good to you?"

She smiled, in spite of everything. "Oh yes."

Shoulders shaking with sobs, Ashley lowered the gun. "Then that's good enough for me. I never wanted you for myself, Phryne. I just wanted you to be free."

Phryne nodded and took the gun as Jack finally lowered his arms and stepped forward to make the arrest. "I know, Ashley. I know."


	10. Chapter 10

_... and we're done. I've been amazed by the reception this fic has received, especially for something that nearly ended its life as a single abandonned orphan scene lurking on my computer. Thank you all once again for your support, and I hope you like the ending._

* * *

Jack stood guard over Parkes, holding him at the point of his own gun, while Phryne went to telephone the police. He didn't particularly like being separated from her, given her evident distress at Parkes' professed motive in leaving Windstanleigh to die, but he could hardly leave the man unguarded. Phryne would understand. For a long time Parkes didn't speak, and Jack was grateful for the chance to compose himself. Phryne had done a sterling job of keeping the situation under control, but, even so, he was well aware that he had come close to dying today.

"When I was a boy, I captured a beautiful little bird in the bush," Parkes said suddenly, staring out of the window with a far-off look in his eye. "I took it home and put it in a cage. My father said it would die, but I wanted so much to keep it that I didn't listen. For the first couple of days it beat itself desperately against the bars, trying to escape, but after a while it sat still on its perch, and I thought it was growing used to captivity. But then I came down one morning and it was dead." He turned agonised eyes on Jack. "It died because I wouldn't let it go. It was born to be free, as all things are, and I took that away from it. When the Germans took me prisoner, I learned for myself how that little bird felt, and when I was free I swore that I'd never again have any part in taking another living thing captive." He was silent for a moment. "Do you love her, Inspector Robinson?"

"More than you could possibly imagine."

"Then I beg of you: don't try to put her in a cage. Whatever else you do, let her keep her freedom."

He nodded. "It never occurred to me to do otherwise."

He was relieved when Guy arrived a few moments later, bringing the same police inspector who had interviewed them after Windstanleigh's death, and one of his constables. Over the course of his career Jack had seen many a man's tongue loosened by the shock of arrest, particularly if there was a possibility that the gallows might be involved, and had learned to tell the difference between calculated words intended to sway an unwary listener and the genuine confessions of the remorseful or disturbed. Ashley Parkes struck him as a man profoundly disturbed, and he was glad to be able to hand him over to another officer.

"A word, Inspector?" Detective Inspector Brown asked as Jack made to leave the room.

"In a few moments?" he asked.

"She's in the blue drawing room," Guy called helpfully after him.

Phryne rose when he entered, appearing almost completely composed when compared with her aunt and Companion, who were both clearly struggling to take in the idea that a seemingly harmless man had suddenly decided to bring a gun to the Stanley residence and use it to threaten Jack Robinson. But there was a tension in Phryne's face - her beautiful eyes just slightly too wide, her delicate jaw clenched just slightly too tight - that told Jack a very different story. He remembered her words the day before, that one of the things she wanted from him was for him to hold her when she was sad, and God knew that he wasn't feeling a hundred percent steady himself just at that moment, either. And so, heedless of their audience, he crossed the room to stand in front of her, wrapped his arms around her, and once again pressed soft, sweet kisses into her hair.

"It wasn't your fault, Phryne," he told her after a moment. "Parkes chose to leave Windstanleigh to drown that night. You might just as well say that it was my fault for not locking him up in a nice, safe police cell."

She stepped back slightly, still in the circle of his arms, and smiled at him. "When you put it like that, it makes it a lot easier to bear."

"Good." He kissed her, hearing a sharp inhalation of disapproval from her aunt and, after a moment, an apologetic and slightly embarrassed throat-clearing from D. I. Brown.

"So, all those denials of a romantic involvement the other day...?"

"Have been somewhat overtaken by events," Phryne told him.

...

A few hours later their statements were made, the car was packed, and they were almost ready to leave. Until that point Jack had managed to avoid being cornered by Prudence Stanley, but his luck ran out as he was returning from one last check of his room.

"Of course, you know that she can never marry you," the older woman informed him bluntly.

"'Never' is a very long time," he replied, tired of the woman's endless jibes and attempts to pair Phryne off with men who were violent, mentally disturbed, or simply unpleasant. "But I can assure you, I have no plans to propose to your niece." Her expression softened slightly, but any trace of a smile was wiped away by his next words. "I'm sure we'll both be quite happy living in sin."

...

"So, Miss Fisher, are you ready to admit that you were wrong?" he asked, as she pulled away from the house.

"Wrong, Inspector? Whatever do you mean?"

"Parkes may have walked away and abandoned Windstanleigh to his fate, but he didn't murder him. His fall into the pool and subsequent drowning really was a tragic accident."

Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times. "I'm sure I never said-"

"You said that his death _wasn't_ an accident, and commenced your investigation on the basis that it was murder." He looked at her with something dangerously close to a smirk. "You were wrong."

"I may have been mistaken-"

"You were wrong, Phryne." He really _was_ grinning now, although he was aware that he was treading on dangerous ground. "You may as well admit it."

From the back seat, Dot made a noise that sounded suspiciously like someone trying to disguise helpless laughter as a bout of coughing.

Phryne paused for a moment, then rolled her eyes. "Alright, fine. I will admit that I was, on this one occasion, and this one occasion only, wrong."

He stared out at the road, shoulders shaking silently with repressed laughter, knowing that to make a sound right now would be all but suicidal. After a moment he composed himself enough to ask "I don't suppose there's any chance I'd be able to get that as a formal, written confession?"

...

"Given his mental state, and the fact the he didn't actually kill Windstanleigh, Parkes may escape hanging," Jack told Phryne as he sat in her parlour the following night.

"I'm not sure that hanging wouldn't be kinder," Phryne replied. "He has a horror of cages."

"Well, that's for the judge to decide." He sighed. "I'm just glad you were able to talk him down."

"So am I." She deposited herself in his lap and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Did he tell you about his little bird?"

"I would never try to put you in a cage, Phryne," Jack responded, looking into her eyes. "I would never do that to you."

She smiled and stroked his cheek. "I know that, Jack. I know. And that's why I love you; it's why I _can_ love you. Because you'd let me go, no matter how much it hurt you. If I really wanted to leave, you'd let me. And that's why I can bear to stay."

He wasn't sure who kissed whom, but it was more than a kiss between lovers. It was a kiss between friends and equals, partners who had neither lost their freedom nor attempted to rob the other of theirs, and, free to go, were both therefore free to stay.


End file.
